AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Somehow she’d learned more about him in one day than she had in the whole of the past five years. They’d become friends, sort of, although sometimes, when their eyes met, it felt like more than that. Could there be more? He’d admitted that he’d looked at her body—that he’d admired it!—and for once the idea hadn’t bothered her. Something in his voice had made her heart thump instead and not with the fea
r and self-consciousness she usually experienced. It had felt more like pleasure and excitement. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the idea of somebody looking at her had actually felt good.
They rose together, silently gathering up the few belongings they’d brought with them, before eating a small breakfast of bread and cheese and making their way out to the stables to begin the journey anew.
The weather had settled into a light drizzle, though it was still enough to make conversation difficult as they rode on towards Wintercott. Even on higher ground, it felt as though they were riding through a series of streams rather than along tracks, but at least there were fewer large puddles to slow them down. Much as Constance enjoyed riding, she had to admit the novelty was beginning to wear thin, even on Vixen, though her companion showed no signs of tiredness, controlling his mount with a soldier’s expert touch. Even so, it was a longer day than she’d expected, given the distance, so that the sun, almost obscured by grey clouds, was almost touching the horizon by the time they finally, mercifully, saw Wintercott Castle nestling on the far side of the valley ahead of them.
Constance pulled on her reins with a gasp. Her uncle had warned her that Wintercott was substantially bigger than Lacelby, but she was still unprepared for the sheer size and scale of its walls. It looked significantly newer, too, in a modern design with giant watchtowers set at each point of a vast, octagonal-shaped bailey. The gatehouse alone looked to be almost the same size as her uncle’s manor and the keep challenged that of Lincoln Castle itself. Looking closer, she realised that there were in fact two baileys, the inner keep encircled by a smaller ring of curtain walls to provide extra protection.
She glanced across at Matthew, expecting to see a smile, but his jaw was clenched tight and his expression sterner than ever, tinged with some other strong emotion. She might almost have described it as dread, though surely that couldn’t be right. He was returning to his family home after five years away. What was there to dread about that?
‘Matthew?’ She nudged her horse closer. ‘Is something the matter?’
He blinked as if her voice had startled him. ‘No. Forgive me, it’s just been a long time since I was here.’ He frowned and then glanced up at the sky as a low rumble of thunder sounded overhead. ‘We’d better hurry.’
He spurred his horse on and she rode after him, seized with a vague sense of foreboding. No matter his denial, something was definitely the matter, but Matthew was already galloping ahead out of earshot. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was doing it deliberately to escape further questions.
The sudden downpour that broke over their heads when they were halfway across the valley made her wonder if the weather knew something she didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
‘Look who it is!’
The man’s voice took Constance by surprise as they made their way inside the keep a few minutes later, thankfully divested of their dripping wet outer garments. The great hall was so long and cavernous that the words seemed to echo around the walls and off the vaulted ceiling, challenging rather than welcoming them to Wintercott.
‘Father.’ If Matthew noticed the challenge then he ignored it, making a stiff bow as an older, strikingly similar version of himself rose from a throne-like chair by the hearth. ‘I trust that you’re well?’
‘Better than you by the look of it.’ Instead of beckoning them towards the fireside like a good host, the older man strode across the room and stopped just in front of them, planting his feet firmly apart and folding his arms as if he were deliberately making a barrier against the warmth. ‘At least I’m dry.’
‘We were caught in the downpour.’
‘So I see.’ The older man’s eyes flickered towards her, sparking with what looked like malicious humour. They were dark brown like Matthew’s, she noticed, but without any of his softness, sweeping briefly over her face and then dropping downwards, raking her body in a way that made her feel acutely conscious that she was only wearing her tunic, the one layer of clothing that hadn’t got wet. For a moment, she was tempted to turn and run back the way that they’d come.
‘You remember my wife?’ Matthew shifted sideways, pushing himself into his father’s line of vision as he took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Constance, this is my father, Sir Ralph Wintour.’
She caught her breath, taken aback by the tenderness of the gesture. His touch was reassuring, though there was something defensive about it, too, as if he felt the need to protect her. But why would he feel the need to protect her here, especially against his own father?
‘Sir Ralph.’ She pushed the question aside and swept into a deep curtsy, amazed again by the close resemblance between the two men. Aside from a few wrinkles and some silver streaks in his father’s hair they were almost identical, with the same height, build and shoulder-length fair hair.
‘Of course I remember.’ His father reached for her other hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. ‘I never forget a pretty face and you’ve grown into a true beauty, my dear.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured the expected reply, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered shamelessly over her breasts. With a tug she tried to pull her hand away, but his grip only tightened, holding her steady between him and Matthew as if she were the rope in some bizarre tug-of-war.
‘How was your journey, my dear?’ The glint in his eyes was disturbing, too, as if he were actually enjoying her discomfort.
‘Long,’ Matthew answered for her, looking pointedly at his father’s hand. ‘We’re glad to be here.’
‘Really?’ His father’s lips curved. ‘You’ll have to forgive my cynicism then. I was starting to wonder if you’d any intention of ever returning home.’
‘I stayed in France as long as the King needed me.’
‘For all the good you did. From what I hear we’ve lost nearly all of our territory over the channel.’ Sir Ralph’s expression hardened. ‘It’s no wonder he’s dispensed with your services now.’
This time it was Matthew’s fingers that tightened. ‘I followed the King’s orders. Just like the rest of his army.’
‘So you blame the King?’
There was a telling pause before Matthew answered, his voice clipped. ‘Even a king can make mistakes.’
